


we shall by morning inherit the earth

by lightpages



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Star Trek: Into Darkness, Star Trek: Into Darkness Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 09:30:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightpages/pseuds/lightpages
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Spock talk in the hospital, or: Vulcan hand-kissing fluff. Post-Into Darkness fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we shall by morning inherit the earth

It’s not really strange at all, Jim thinks, how quickly and completely he’s come to think of his home as being among the stars, always on the move and exploring. It leaves him with an empty ache as he lies in his sickbed, watching the last glimmers of sunset fade away through his window. He could be up there, out there, at home within the cool sleek metal of his ship, were it not for that super-human terrorist bastard. 

(He also would never have been able to see those stars or stand on that bridge again, had it not been for that same super-human’s blood pulsing through him, sending restoration and life thrumming through his limbs. He’s not quite sure how he feels about that yet, but he’s pretty certain that wanting to claw at his own skin until that blood flows clear is not the best reaction to have.) 

He had woken up sometime this morning, opened his eyes to a modest collection of flowers and get-well cards – a good chunk of them dripping irony and tackiness to cover up the truly genuine worry their givers felt – jostling on the bedside table, little bursts of colour in the pristine, medical smoothness of it all. The day had passed in a blur, crew members dropping in and out. Bones had come storming in first, armed to the teeth with hypos and a lecture about  _how dare you do this to us, Jim, damnit_ before relenting and giving him a grudging smile of relief. Uhura had livened up the room with her sarcastic banter, enveloping him in a warm hug as he managed to sit up weakly. Each and every crew member that came to visit had made him feel a little bit more like things could slowly be put right again, and their smiles eased (but did not erase) the restless anxiety building up as he realised how close he’d been to dooming them all.

But there’d been someone so obviously missing from all of it. Jim hums tunelessly, tapping his fingers on the bedside table and staring at the little, shining model of the Enterprise someone had put there. He’s not  _worried_  – the damn Vulcan was probably off meditating or doing god-knows what else they did when desperately hiding from their own feelings. Still, Jim’s right on the verge of dismissing all the rules of recovering from the dead and going looking for his first officer himself, when a firm and self-assured knock on the door stops him. He glances up as the door glides open smoothly.

As Spock steps into the room, Jim feels like the final piece of himself has slid into place; like he's finally whole again.  It's a strange, sudden feeling, knocking away the self-doubt that had been gnawing in the back of his mind all day, replacing everything with a new sort of clarity. Jim looks searchingly towards him, trying to dig just slightly beneath the surface. Shoulders straight, head tall, hands behind his back, as always. But something in the tense set of his jaw, the way his eyebrows are drawn slightly togethet, tells Jim what he already knows: that being emotionless has been a battle lost long ago for Spock. 

 _You've been hiding from me all day,_ Jim wants to say.   _I know you've been here while I was asleep, and now that I'm awake you've been running from having to face the part of you which cares so illogically. It's not gonna work, because it's your whole entire being that cares._ But he knows it’d be wrong to spring such emotional accusations on him, so instead he just remains quiet, lets Spock speak for himself. 

“I am glad to see you are awake and recovering well, Captain."

Jim grins, carefree and natural, slipping into familiar banter in spite of himself. "Is that all the greeting I get? It's nice to see you too."

"I hope you will forgive me for not visiting earlier. I believed it would be logical to allow you to rest." He doesn’t sound particularly convinced, eyebrows now drawn together in an even more pronounced frown. Jim can practically see the gears turning and clicking in his head. 

"Hey, it's alright," he says softly. Well, scratch the idea of pretending nothing’s wrong. "Come over here, sit down. There's chess, want to play?"

Spock blinks, and murmurs, "Of course. I would love to, Captain." He walks over and sits on the chair set next to the bed, folds himself in with limbs straight and angular and beautiful. He seems lost deep in thought.

"Something on your mind?" Jim asks, as he watches his first officer's fingers move deftly, gliding over the chess pieces. They both know it's a pointless question. The glass and the almost sickening, unavoidable truth of Jim's sacrifice hangs in the air between them.

Spock seems to deliberate over the board for a while, and Jim knows he's taking refuge in the familiar action while he arranges his thoughts. 

"I have merely been finding it difficult to maintain full control over my emotions, after recent events."

“Recent events, right. An eloquent way of putting it.” 

"Captain--" He pauses, looks directly at him. Jim finds the intensity of his gaze startling. "Jim. Surely you do not require me to remind you that you were _dead_. I cannot express how – how much it affected me, against my better judgement and against everything I believed I was capable of. I am sure you understand.”

“Of course.” A wave of something like compassion hits Jim. “I wasn’t trying to say otherwise. I... I’ve been doing a lot of thinking too, though, believe it or not. And knowing that you care so deeply for me – well, I think I’ve always known it on some level, but it’s just been a lot to sift through. Among everything else too, y’know, the crew and the ship and just…” He lifts a hand, gesturing vaguely.

“Your efforts were exceedingly commendable. And it is my duty to care for you - not only as your first officer, but as your friend.”

 _Friend._ It stirs something deep within him, because coming from anyone else it might have sounded commonplace, but it’s not anyone else, it’s Spock; and he feels like the word should be treasured, and he wants to hear it again, to see it written, to feel it against his skin.

“I… I’m touched,” Jim finally manages. “No, really. I don’t know what to say.” He smiles then, and maybe if he smiles enough it’ll show enough love to split between both of them.

“Then let us continue with the game,” Spock replies. There’s something in his gaze that speaks volumes; they both know they don’t need words. The truth is tangible between them, a bond that shines bright and real as the stars.

They slip back into the familiar routine of the chess game, though Jim suspects Spock’s going easy on him due to his current medical state; and by the end of the match, as Spock surrenders his king, it’s obvious there’s something he’s trying to find the words to say.

“Jim…” he starts, as he lifts his eyes, pushing the board aside slightly. He’s searching for words, but Jim is simply astounded by the fact that he keeps making Spock speechless, and then before he knows it the Vulcan reaches over and puts his fingers on Jim’s palm. His skin feels scorching hot, but it’s nothing compared to the sensation of the mind brushing against his own, a barely-contained vortex which just grazes the edge of his consciousness. Jim stares into those confused eyes, and curls his own fingers in, and is flooded with amazement at the sheer amount of emotion under that surface, folding and turning in conflicted surges.  _How do you do it?_ He echoes the question from back in that glass room, and Spock replies wordlessly with the same statement that he  _does not know_ , but what does it matter when they’re both here, together and alive?

Their palms are touching now, fingers intertwined, the glass and the boundaries dissolved into nothing. Jim begins to understand why this is considered kissing, as slivers of heat spike through him. His eyes slide closed as his mind opens, and he wants to know everything. It’s not enough, the fleeting glimpses of the increasingly illogical thoughts running from Spock’s mind and straight into his; he wants to explore that enigma, climb the steps and unlock the doors one by one, find the true heart that he knows is there because he can damn feel it right now. Make it his own, and in the process surrender his own soul too.

“Not now," Spock says, a million miles away but right next to him, drawing him back to the surface. His voice flows softly and quietly, every familiar cadence muted and reassuring to Jim's ears. "You are still recovering, and need rest."

Jim's eyes flicker open, taking in Spock's face hovering above him. His skin is tinged with the slightest shade of olive green across his cheekbones, and Jim thinks that it's the most wonderful colour he's ever seen. He understands. This needs to be slow; there's no need to rush, because Spock is not like Jim. He needs time and careful structuring before he can allow himself to let go, to let it all come down again in a perfect cascade.

“You should sleep now; but sleep knowing that I am here with you.” Before Jim can respond, Spock leans over, brushes his lips against their still-intertwined fingers in an irrational and oh-so-human move. Jim feels the last of the tension leave his body, as he loses himself in the the warmth of the blankets and his overwhelming fatigue and the wondrous gaze of the Vulcan watching him. The stars are shining bright outside his window, and the warm fingers on his spell out a wordless promise that they'll both still be there when morning breaks; for this morning and all the rest to come.


End file.
